


A Reaper's Night Out

by HypeWagon



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Funny, Humor, Parody, lame jokes, not canon, please donut roast me, smut kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 18:12:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9914933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HypeWagon/pseuds/HypeWagon
Summary: A fic I wrote at the request of some palerinos who wanted me to come up with a good smutty Mercy/Reaper. Unfortunately for them I can't write smut for shit so this is what they get instead.This is a heart wrenching tale of two star-crossed lovers akin to Romeo and Juliet albeit much better written.Keep in mind, this is my first time posting anything on the Internet ever and English is not my first language so apologies for the awful grammar mistakes, I would off myself right now if I had the chance.





	

The man clad in a black cloak and a skull mask downed his drink (through his mask too, I mean that's kind of impressive how he drinks through the mask where does the liquid go do you think) sipping loudly to annoy the other customers of the pub located smack dab in the middle of King's Row. Then he rose, towering over the other denizens of the place with his absolutely massive, abnormal, extremely impressive and totally out of this world height of (let me check the Overwatch wikia real quick) 6'1 (lmao reaper schmeaper). He spotted a woman in the corner, sipping fruit punch as she looked up stuff on her phone.

The tall-ass man sauntered over next to her and took a seat without a word, looking her up and down. She had streaks of purple and blue in her hair, one side shaved. With long, elegant fingers she tapped her screen, chuckling to herself in Portuguese all the while. Minutes passed without her even deigning to look at the cloaked figure next to her. After a while he called the bartender who he had just called a “big fat cunt” just an hour ago with a snap of his fingers.

“A drink for the lady and I,” he said with a hoarse, guttural voice. “Make it... extra fruity,” he added with a pause. The bartender slammed his two hands on the counter.

“Sir, this is the Salty Spitoon. If you're going to ask for fruit punch I'm afraid you're not tough enough and you should reconsider your choice of venue.”

Ripper clicked his tongue and then pulled out two gold coins out of his Hello Kitty wallet and rubbed them together. “Reconsider _this_.” The bartender rolled his eyes, nabbed the gold coins and bit on one of them like how it was done in the fantasy novels he read in his past time and found that all it did was make him look like a jackass, then poured two glasses of fruit punch as had been asked. When Ripper tsk'd him, he groaned loudly and put a pinch of glitter on the surface of the liquid. “Extra fruity for m'lord,” he growled with murder in his eyes.

Ripper handed the mysterious waif one glass and finally she looked up from her phone to look at him. Her eyebrows furrowed at the sight of the glitter glass but she took it nonetheless. “Muchos gracios mi sombrero,” she muttered as she looked back to her phone.

“Sorry, I don't speak Portuguese,” he said with a smile. “May I ask you your name, fair lady?”

“It is Sombrera. Everyone calls me Sombra though,” she said as she was typing to her ex who was desperately trying to get back with her (seriously McCree you go whoring and expect her to accept that like wtf dude).

“And _I_ go by many names. Some call me the Angel of Death. The Shepherd of the Damned. The Harbinger of Destruction. The Horseman of the Apocalypse that doesn't ride a horse. The Eternal Shadow.” He spent minutes sharing his many self-imposed titles, actually pulling out a list out of his pocket at one point and reading them for the Portuguese woman he was trying to get laid with. “...the Second Coming of the Black Death, Hernan Cortes 2.0, Bloody Gabey, Jack the Reaper (bet y'all never thought about that) and finally, the Dancing Dove of Doom. But you may call me Gabriel if you wish.”

“Yeah okay, nice one hotshot,” she said as she downed the drink he had offered her. “I don't know how to put this but um, I go to the pub to drink, not to get hit on by freaks like you, so maybe back off? Besides, if we're not in a relationship, best you can do is dream about it. Or better yet, don't, you weirdo.” She rose and took her coat, making as if she was departing.

He rose with her. “Wait a second.”

She eyed menacingly. A second passed. Then she made for the door again. He grabbed her small arm in his big palm and squeezed. “I said wait. You're a woman, right?”

She nodded. “And you're drinking at a pub, by yourself?” She nodded again, not sure where he was going with this.

He threw his hands in the air in frustration. “So what the hell do you mean, you're not looking to get hit on by guys, I mean, you're just sending mixed signals, you fucking bitch, I bought you a drink even-”

“You paid me a drink, so I should have sex with you?”

“Yes,” he growled.

Baffled, she put her hand on her mouth in disbelief. “You are a special kind of moron, aren't you?” With that, she turned around and walked out of the pub, got into a nearby cab with a purple-skinned lady (French prejudices in Overwatch offend me greatly, we're not all purple people) and started making out with her because that's totally a thing where women all make out with each other it's not just me right???

Reeper heard laughter from the table behind him. Four men were seated playing poker and out of one's mouth escaped the words “Bloody Gabey”, which caused more snickers from the other three. Ripper approached them and slammed his massive, gargantuan, titan-sized fist on the table. “What's so funny?” he growled again, sounding extremely intimidating and spooky.

“You, little Reaper,” laughed that mothertrucking cuckerino Jack Skellington 76. Even though they were now both old shits he still found ways to bully him about the past. Multiple times Ryper had told him “It's in the past, sweetie,” but Jack had always bounced back with new bullshit. “You come up with all these names trying to impress girls, when the entire world knows you're just an old emo douche-scrooge who hasn't realized he's not in college anymore. You're a real twat.”

“Fight me, Jack. Here and now,” Ripper said, full of scorn, as he pulled out his Duel Disk out of his bag. “This is going to be revenge for all these years of wedgies, cyberbullying and therapy. Put up your dukes... knave!”

The whole pub, which until now had been full of energy and loud sounds and whatever the fuck else there is in a pub, was reduced to silent as soon as the dreaded k-word escaped Reyper's lips. Jack shook his head. “You leave me no choice then,” he said reluctantly as he whipped out his own Duel Disk out of his asscheeks or something.

“Cease this at once, you wretches!” boomed Reinhardt's voice as he pushed his way into the circle that had formed around the two rivals. “Reaper, you've had far too much to drink. Skedaddle. _Now._ ”

“I meant what I said, templar. Now out of my way.” But Reinhardt slammed his hammer on the ground between them, blunt end upwards.

“You've got balls to take that tone with me, boy. Blue balls, judging by how desperate you were to get that Portuguese lass from earlier.” The people of the bar laughed at that remark but Reinhardt quieted them with a raise of his hand. “Leave this place for tonight. Let it not be said that I let blood be spilled in the halls of the Salty Spitoon. I am a man of justice, after all.”

Reaper gave Jack one last defiant look, then walked away with a flap of his cloak under the laughs and jeers of the pubgoers. Under his super duper spooky mask a single tear rolled down his cheek. _How hypocritical of you, Reinhardt. You speak of justice? Of cowardice? I will show you the justice of the grave... and the true meaning of fear, in due time_. Outside, the streetlights of King's Row shone lowly for him. This was his true place. He belonged to the night, and under the long shadows of the world he ruled supreme.

As he walked further and further away from the light and hospitality of the Salty Spitoon he found himself put off by the silence around him. Not that he disliked it, but rather, it was strange that the world outside was absolutely still on this Chinese New Year. Though the wind was not cold by any means, he found himself clutching his cloak tighter against him, as if he was afraid of something.

He heard a window crash paces to his right. His heart jumped at the sound, but he quickly caught himself. _What could I, the great Reaper, be scared of_? He continued on his way to nothing in particular. He was not quite sure what he was looking for.

A purpose? A reason to be, perhaps? He sighed sadly as he pondered it more deeply.

“It is truly the cruelest form of torture, to be alone in this great wide world.” At the corner of his eyes he spotted two felines going at it, and he felt himself longing for that kind of affection. Bells tolled behind him. He hissed as he remembered his nanny's words.

“Do not wander through King's Row on your lonesome, or you will soon find yourself in a threesome.” The words echoed in his ears as he heard it, right there at the corner of the dark alleyway, a pristine, smooth giggle.

“Who's there? Show yourself!” he cried, his voice shaky and tense as he grabbed his two overcompensating shotguns from their holsters.

Two shadows emerged from the darkness. Ripper squinted to make out who they were and gasped in shock as it him all at once.

“Angela Merkel? Symme- (checks Overwatch wikia once again) I mean Satya Asswani? What are you two doing here? This isn't a place for people with college degrees.” He lowered his weapons as his heart's racing slowed.

Satya was looking at him haughtily, but in Angela's gaze he found something else, something different- compassion? Pity? He could not be sure- and he found himself looking her up and down, thinking how comely she looked with burgundy lipstick applied to her heart-shaped lips and how her thigh-high boots did not seem all that big compared to her long, smooth legs. She was wearing a heavy fur coat, crimson compared to Satya's blue. Angela was wearing white leather gloves that reached for something in her pocket. Reaper, fearing her to pull out her infamous pistol (it does surprising amounts of damage), gripped his guns tighter, ready to pounce like a predator.

Instead she took out a tissue and walked up to him, rubbing it along the surface of his mask. “Gabriel, you shouldn't let them see you cry. Remember in grade school, when you promised me you'd always be the strongest boy on the playground?” She smiled softly as he stood there, refusing to lock eyes with her.

“You look like you've been hitting the gym, Satya,” Reaper said as he pointed at her luscious thighs. She guffawed. She was wearing a skirt way too small for the tree trunks she had for legs.

“People charge extra when I almost crack their skulls with these. Don't ask me why, though. Anyways Reaps, you interested or not? These thick thighs won't ride themselves you know.”

“What? How would that work?” Reaper asked, confused.

“I read about it in this fanfic once.” When she saw that he was just as confused, Satya sighed and looked at Angela. “The man's a dweeb. Probably doesn't even know what a kink is. Let's leave him and let's go have some fun.” She took Angela's arm and tugged and was surprised when she met resistance.

“Wait, Satya. I want to catch up with Gabriel first. I haven't seen him in years, and besides, I'm not really feeling too good. But you go and have a wild time.” She turned towards Reaper, nodded, and made to take his hand.

Surprised, Reaper could not react and only muttered a small “No” before she went to grab his hand. When she did, his hand fizzled out in a dark black mist and Angela's hand grasped at air. She looked at him, worried. He took a step back, clutching his now-reformed limb.

“Go with her, Angela. Angles like you shouldn't hang out with monsters such as I.” He turned around and made to walk away but she told him to stop. “I'll text you later, okay Satya?” The other just waved and went her own way. Angela ran after Gabe who was sulking down another alleyway.

“You wanna head to my place? I have some vodka I think. We can catch up there.” He found her smile so genuine, her desire to be nice to him so intense that he could not refuse. He nodded reluctantly and she squealed with joy. They walked together, side-by-side, Reaper making sure to stay an arm's length away from her. He had liked her once, as a boy, but now he did not want to get too close to her.

“First of all, about earlier, was that a typo or did you just call me an angle?”

“I'm pretty sure that was supposed to be comedy,” he grumbled, breaking the fourth wall.

She laughed that clear, pure laugh again and it echoed in his ears and feelings that had been bottled up for too long stirred inside him. He clutched at his cloak tighter once more, trying to keep control over himself.

“And just so you know, I've been with monsters far scarier than you, Gabriel. Some men have stooped down to some pretty low things with me and it scares me to think about it sometimes.” She pressed her coat against her chest, but her exposed legs could not do much to stop the cold. Reaper thought that was why she was shaking. “And you? What have you been doing since Overwatch shut down?”

He exhaled and gave himself a pause to find the right answer. “I've always been a wanderer. You know that.”

She chuckled. “Remember that one time, when Amari and I skipped class to go to Peter's Pond and you and Jack tried looking for us and ended up getting lost?”

He exhaled louder than usual, an action that Internet users used to indicate that they found something funny. “Jack and I have grown apart since then.”

“I've heard. You've both tried to murder the other multiple times now.” She sighed. “All over some stupid Pokémon card. I don't get you boys.”

Ripper looked at her with a surprised expression. “Do you not understand the significance of an original Charizard card, you simpleton? That card was worth more to me than anything.” She laughed again, indicating that she was merely teasing him. She went to put her arm around his and he hissed.

“Angela, please don't.”

She eyed him, puzzled. Her hand was right next to his forearm now. “Gabriel, there's no need to be shy with me. I won't hurt you, I promise.” Slowly, she put her hand in his and squeezed softly. He could hear his heart beat faster and faster in his chest, but he did not wraith away this time. He sighed internally out of relief. She pointed towards a small apartment building at the end of the street. “There's my loft.”

Inside, Reyper was assaulted with multiple copies of women's magazines, at least a dozen cats just waiting to be fed and to be given attention to, and scattered food here and there on the couches of the living room.

“I know it's not tidy but Satya and I weren't really expecting guests. Sit down, I'll go get us a drink.”

Reaper settled down next to two kittens playing fight with each other. He put a large hand around one's collar and held him up as it meowed. “Heh, look at you, completely at my mercy (Heyo!). Ponder how weak and fragile you are, mortal.” The kitty took a bite out of his gloved finger and he dropped it with a cry. “Goddamned chucklefu-”

“I got vodka!” Angela yelled from the other room. She made her way over to the living room, pushing away kittens who clawed at her feet as she passed by, and sat next to him. She had removed her fur coat and was wearing a light orange tank top. _She might be as old as me but she sure doesn't look like it._ He caught himself taking a peek at her chest and reprimanded himself heavily as he turned his attention towards the glass she was handing him.

“To old age!” she cried.

“To old age,” he replied unenthusiastically. Reaper took a mere sip out of his glass and was visibly shocked to find that Angela had completely chugged the contents of her rather-full glass in the same amount of time. She smiled dumbly at him, showing off her bright white neutral Swiss teeth.

“So, Gabriel. I know this is _indiscreet_ of me but if you don't mind me asking, how have your romantic adventures been going the past forty years?”

“Well enough. Just earlier I had my way with four wenches from Tanner's Tavern. That would make that.... sixty this week, I believe,” he lied nonchalantly as he sipped, pinky up, like a true dumbass.

“ _Oh!_ Is that why Sombra was texting me earlier about how you tried to impress her with your self-made titles?” She saw the panic in his face and laughed. “Truth, Gabriel. I want the truth.”

Panicked froze his thoughts. He wanted to be out of this place, desperately so. She could not know. She could not know his secret.

“I'm waiting,” she chimed as she poured herself another glass.

“Do you really want me to list all the women I've lain with? I mean, the list would go on and on and-”

“Oh, please do,” she said curtly. “We have all night to catch up.”

He sighed, shook his head and resigned himself. “Angela, there... there has been no women.”

She touched his shoulder. “Aww, I'm sorry. This week hasn't been fruitful to you, that's okay. You'll get 'em next time, tiger.”

“No, Angela, I mean... There hasn't been any women _at all_.” And then he hung his head in shame as she mulled it over in her head.

“Well, that's... No women? Really?” She was smiling awkwardly, not sure what to make of this. She poured them both another glass. “Gabriel, what's happened to you? The boy full of confidence and swagger that I knew from grade school?”

He looked at her with an icy stare. “The boy is dead. I am a man now.”

She chuckled. “If you ask me, you don't sound like much of a man.”

“ _Silence_ ,” he growled, shaking.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. It was just very unexpected an answer. If it's any consolation, I've only been with a handful of women before so you're not too bad.”

“And men?”

She looked at him, stopping all her movements, and put down her glass. “You do realize who you're asking to, right?” He nodded slowly. “Well, let's see, it's been almost thirty-four years now since I've begun this line of work, I've had at least seven suitors a week, that makes, hold on, I'm too drunk for this, I need a calculator-”

“No. I've heard enough.” Reaper bade her sit with a hand gesture, then chugged the remains of his glass. She looked at him, concerned.

“What's bothering you, Gabe? If you're jealous of the number of men I've been with in the past then you can always do this job for me instead.”

“That's not it.”

“Are you perhaps thinking that you should've taken a shot at me before the entire city of Numbani did? Is that it?” Reaper saw a dull light in her eyes. “Oh wait, I know. You had feelings for me once, didn't you? And now you're thinking that maybe you should've taken me for yourself instead of just running off alone doing your own thing. Well fuck you, you big black pussy. The past is the past and it's too late now. I'm over you.” She sat back down into her couch and put her face in her hands.

“I'm not though.”

She waved at him angrily. “Get out. Out of my house. I don't want you here, do you understand me?”

Instead he knelt in front of her and took her hands in his. He did not wraith away. “Angela, I'm sorry it took me this long to do this.” He gave her lips a small peck. It tasted of lipstick, salt, and tears. She sat there, stunned, looking at him.

“I don't want your pity, Gabriel Reyes.”

“Isn't that why you brought me here in the first place? Because you pitied me? I saw the way you looked at me, like I was some lost little puppy you could heal and prop up back together. But these scars- he took off his cloak and his black shirt, exposing his bloody pale skin lashed and slashed apart- will never truly heal Angela.”

“Is that why you came? So you could tell me about how I botched your operation?”

“No, my angle. I never thanked you properly, for giving me a real chance at life. I wanted to thank you, that's all.”

Her face's features smoothed down. She hiccuped. “I tried my best, Gabriel. You know I did. But the technology at the time-”

He put a finger over her mouth. “I've forgiven you years ago for that, Angela.”

Wetness gathered in her eyes and she pulled him closer, holding him tightly against her as she sobbed. He patted her back, not too sure what to do now that he was this close to a real-life woman.

“I'm sorry, the vodka's making me emotional and oh my gosh,” she said as she fanned her eyes once their embrace had ended. “Gabriel, would you please stay the night? I don't want to be alone for Chinese New Year.

He nodded. Angela went to the bedroom, and he waited there for many minutes to pass. He found a nearby mirror and took off his mask. He shied away in disgust, but did not cover his face again. Instead he went to meet her in her room.

She was waiting on top of the covers, gasping as he made his way inside, torso exposed, face revealed, his black pants the only piece of clothing he wore.

“You're not as bad as I remember you being,” she exclaimed as he settled down in bed next to her.

“I guess it's true in some things, that time really does heal.” He laid on his back and she rested on top of him soon enough. He tried to shy away but she was firmly entrenched in there.

“Oh, I'm sorry. I don't make you uncomfortable, do I?” she said worriedly.

“Every lady's body makes me uncomfortable. The idea of cooties does not please me in the slightest,” he whispered, instantly regretting that last comment.

“Cooties? My goodness, Gabriel, you really are a child in a man's body,” she laughed, wiping away the last remnants of tears in her face.

“I just- I don't-”

“If you want to trade cooties,” she smirked, “I'm willing to give you mine.”

“I'd rather not,” he said nervously.

Too late. She was already undoing the laces of his pants, slowly. He felt her hands touch his weewee and he felt blood surge to his shotgun. She snickered, muttering something about how “this would be so easy” and massaged him up and down.

“Jesus christ almighty on a pogo stick with mustard and ketchup on top,” he groaned as he Death Blossom'd in his pants. He felt the sticky liquid splatter all over his groin area and he looked at her, astonished.

“I don't know what to say,” said the Swiss.

“I'm just going to wraith away now, if you don't mind,” he said, hanging his head in shame. But she caught him and kissed him passionately.

“Stay. Just give it a bit of time. Meanwhile you can get more _comfortable_ with this lady's body.”

And they did it give a bit of time. Soon enough his ultimate had recharged and he was ready for point two of Ilios. He put his thingie whatchamacallit inside her vajayjay and did exactly like the two felines he had spotted in the streets earlier.

They spent at least thirty seconds doing the two-backed beast until again Gabriel spilled his seed, this time inside her whoo-hoo hole. Little did they know at the time, that they had just created the miracle of life, but for now they rested content, knowing that they had found company for the Chinese New Year.

_Author's Note: Moral of the story, kids, is that sex is like, super duper fun and shit and there's no fucking reason to be scared of disappointing your partner because I mean, it says so in the song “Don't Stop Me Now”, you just gotta be a sex machine ready to reload like an atom bomb about to oh oh oh oh oh explode._


End file.
